The Life Cycle of the Common Rat
by theredspool
Summary: Peter Pettigrew: rat, traitor, coward. Above all, human.
1. Dumbledore's Office, 1976

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's Office, 1976.

 _They had been punished often enough. Peter Pettigrew should not have expected the watery weight of guilt and fear low in his gut. It was a familiar scene; he was sitting in front of Headmaster Dumbledore's desk, with James Potter and Sirius Black seated beside him. A bright fire was dancing in the hearth of the office, filling it with warmth. James was flushed with exertion and shame, but Sirius seemed unaffected. His arm was draped lazily over the back of the chair; he tossed his head and looked up at Dumbledore._

 _"I didn't tell Sniv-Snape to do anything," Sirius shrugged. "He's been on about Remus for years—surely you know that, Sir."_

 _"I'm afraid that is not the matter at hand, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said gravely. His silvery beard glimmered in the firelight. "He maintains that you took advantage of his…interest in Mr. Lupin's monthly comings and goings, and purposefully offered him information with the intention to cause him harm." He studied Sirius's face carefully, but Sirius was all practiced impassiveness. Peter noticed James's hands clenching and unclenching on his knees. His gaze was focused in his lap—Peter could see his jaw working under the sweaty skin._

 _Peter tensed as the headmaster turned to him. Peter had never been called to Dumbledore's office before. Sure, he'd lost house points for cursing other students in the hallways, or for being out of bed past curfew, and especially for the old Bait and Switch plan, but the trouble had never been this serious._

 _Dumbledore gave Peter an appraising look and must have been satisfied by Peter's abject terror, because his eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly. He redirected his attention to Sirius and leaned back to prop his elbows on the arms of the purple, wing-backed chair. "Thankfully, Mr. Potter had an acute attack of conscience and chose to save Mr. Snape from a potentially terrible fate."_

 _Still, Sirius said nothing. The glow of the fireplace reflected in Headmaster Dumbledore's eyes, which had gone strangely hard and cold. A muscle in his jaw tensed. "Mr. Black, allow me to take a moment to explain something to you. I have made sure not to confirm or even address Mr. Snape's suspicions about Mr. Lupin. If the truth about your friend's condition were to leave this office, hundreds of letters would be pouring into my office, petitioning his expulsion."_

 _For the first time, Sirius's cool demeanor slipped; he looked uneasy. Dumbledore nodded knowingly. "I suppose that did not cross your mind while you were planning this…prank. I also suspect that if it were discovered that I admitted a werewolf into Hogwarts, my own leadership abilities would be called into question. Many would call for my removal, as they would for Mr. Lupin's."_

 _Peter felt ashamed. It hadn't occurred to him that Dumbledore's influence was confined within the Hogwarts gates. He had always seemed omnipotent, full of influence no matter what he set his mind to._

 _"Furthermore, you put one of my students in mortal danger. Mr. Snape could have lost his life, or could have been forced to live with the very same affliction that your friend is suffering from." Sirius swallowed, the color in his cheeks rising. "Oh good, we seem to be making some progress. Might I also remind you that you exploited your friend's condition without his knowledge or consent?"_

 _Sirius looked a bit nauseated, but didn't break eye contact. After a few long moments, Dumbledore spoke again. "I want to put you somewhat at ease—you will not be expelled. I have no interest in drawing attention to these events. However, Mr. Black, you will be serving detention with Mr. Filch every Saturday, Tuesday, and Thursday until the end of term. I hardly imagine anyone will question that." Peter was surprised to hear the touch of spite in Dumbledore's voice. Perhaps he had imagined it. "You may go."_

 _All three of them rose to leave, but Dumbledore raised a hand. "Mr. Black may go." Peter felt his stomach turn as Sirius strode out. "Mr. Pettigrew," Dumbledore began, peering wearily over his spectacles. "I hope this will teach you not to follow blindly where you know you ought not to go. Do not let the invincibility of youth and the security you may feel around your friends cloud your better judgment." Peter flushed and nodded numbly._

 _"Mr. Potter, as much as I value your actions tonight, I don't think I need to tell you that these events cannot and will not be spoken of again." Dumbledore met Peter's eyes as well. "Despite your valiance, however, I want you to take every word I spoke to Mr. Black into your own heart. Perhaps it is time to examine why it was a guilty conscience that motivated your rescue of Mr. Snape rather than an interest the well-being of a fellow student. Next time, let's try not to cut it so close. Good night."_


	2. At the Potters'

20 July 1978— _The Daily Prophet reports: Aurors persist that the events and evidence surrounding the deaths of Prospera Nitt and Mikhail Drost, two young law enforcement wizards, have no apparent connection to the rumored doings of the group known as the "Death Eaters" and their enigmatic leader. The Ministry seems very keen to put a stop to whispers of terrorism and have refused to acknowledge that such an organization exists. However, one official, who chose to remain anonymous, relayed this message regarding the mysterious kingpin: "We urge British citizens to keep their warding and protective charms sharp. One turn down a dark alley and, well, you-know-who could be lurking." With that, the search for 'you-know-who' continues in earnest."_

* * *

The rat scampered through the gutter and dodged a wet, moldering copy of the _Prophet_ that had clumped together with the recent rain. The sun was setting, reflecting brilliantly off of the windows of the enormous house before him. The rat bounded behind a large hedge along the side of the house and, after a few moments, Peter Pettigrew emerged, brushing petals from his shoulders and hair.

He walked around to the Potter family's porch and climbed the steps. James and Lily had been tight-lipped about the meeting—even Sirius was in the dark—but James had divulged that Headmaster Dumbledore himself would be present.

This had piqued Peter's curiosity; rumors of a brewing conflict had been building throughout their years at Hogwarts. Peter had to admit that they had been far more concerned with pranks and girls than with whispers of a cult of wannabe Dark Wizards. James and Sirius had written it off in fifth year when they'd heard that Severus Snape was an aspiring member.

 _If they'll take Snivellus,_ James had sneered. _They must really be hard up for members._

Despite the Ministry passively denying their existence, Peter had heard of the Death Eaters and the mysterious "You-Know-Who." There were rumors that he had magic beyond any wizard, and that he had already committed unspeakable horrors. He had managed to stir enough discord that some people believed the sound of his very name could cause misfortune to befall whoever uttered it. Some families had reported threats: a symbol carved into their front door, or mutilated animals left on the lawn. A few people had even been attacked by masked figures in twos and threes.

It sounded to Peter like a crueler version of the gangs he'd grown up with in Lincolnshire. They targeted the people foolish enough to cross them, of course, but they typically left everyone else well enough alone.

But he didn't want to think about that. Even without all the facts it made Peter uneasy, so he was content to keep his head down and avoid offending the sorts of people that left a skinned cat on your front steps.

Peter studied the front door for a moment. This was the first time he had been to Mr. and Mrs. Potter's house since he'd come to escort a red-eyed, listless James to the funeral. The Potters' joint illness had been long—they had not even been able to attend the commencement feast. It was hard for Peter to imagine that James had the place all to himself now. He hesitated, and knocked.

"Oi, Pete!"

Peter turned to see Sirius coming up the pavement. He was wearing his beloved black leather waistcoat. He had bought it as a jacket from a muggle secondhand store in his fourth year and separated the sleeves with a deft _Diffindo_. He thought it made him look more dangerous, and, being muggle clothing, it had the added benefit of annoying his family.

Sirius was grinning slyly and holding hands with Dorcas Meadowes. "I thought Lark and I spotted you there, running into the bushes." Dorcas—whom Sirius had nicknamed 'Lark' out of a thorough, if private, disdain for her given name—entwined her arm with Sirius' and smiled admiringly at him. Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Behind them, the door opened to reveal Lily, her red hair glowing against the dim interior. "Ah, there you are. We were about to start without you!" Lily hugged Peter warmly and kissed Lark on the cheek. "Sirius, fashionably late—as usual."

" _I'm_ late?" Sirius affected an injured look and gestured behind him to Peter and Lark. "What about them?" He winked at Peter and slid past Lily into the foyer.

* * *

The inside was refreshingly cool compared to the July heat. Peter peered into the extravagant dining room where the late Potters had hosted their monthly society dinners and, on Sundays, a Gobstones club with their neighbors. He followed Sirius and Lark into the large parlor down the hall.

The Potters' parlor was lined with rich, dark wood and stuffed with tastefully-upholstered chairs and chaises in different shades of gold velvet. Within, Peter counted about twenty others locked in hushed conversation. Emmeline Vance—a pretty, willowy Ravenclaw who had been a few years ahead of him—was seated at one on the card tables serving tea to a brown-haired couple and Marlene McKinnon, one of the old Gryffindor chasers. Peter spotted Remus leaning against the fireplace with the flame-haired Prewett twins; he looked up at Peter and raised a hand in greeting, but he didn't smile. When does he ever, lately? Peter mused to himself.

In the back corner, James was chatting with Lily's best friend Mary MacDonald. Sirius strode over and ruffled James' already-mussed hair. They hugged, and Sirius beckoned Lark over to join the conversation.

Peter failed to catch Sirius' eye—he was not entirely sure this was accidental—and settled for sitting with Caradoc Dearborn. Caradoc smiled and handed Peter a plate of biscuits. "All right, Peter?"

"All right," Peter nodded and took one. "You? I heard you got offered a job at the Ministry."

"'Fraid so," he grinned. Caradoc had been a handsome and popular Hufflepuff prefect, and a shoo-in for Head Boy before James had been awarded the honor out of nowhere. Peter used to wonder if Caradoc had taken it hard. "I'm pushing paper at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, assisting Mr. Crouch."

"Blimey, that's impressive. Is he a good boss?"

Caradoc shrugged and tossed his sandy hair out of his eyes. "He's all right. Strict, but I suppose that's to be expected at the DMLE. What are you up to?""

"Not much. I do a bit of heavy lifting at Madame Malkin's once in a while, when her shipments come in, but I'm still exploring my options." Peter felt himself grow hot with embarrassment.

"Good to keep busy," Caradoc said, without a hint of condescension. "I'll be happy to keep my ear to the ground at work, if you like." He squeezed Peter's shoulder warmly.

"Sure. Thanks." Peter wondered—not for the first time—why he hadn't socialized outside of James, Sirius, and Remus while he was at school. He looked over his shoulder at James and Sirius, who were holding court against the wall.

Prongs and Padfoot were a mirror of each other: fit and handsome and dark-haired. But where James was taut and wiry from training, Sirius had the kind of effortless muscle that came from excellent breeding (although Sirius would never admit it—he never wanted to attribute any of his good qualities to the Black lineage).

Peter's eyebrows knitted; he was neither athletic nor handsome, although he had a round, pleasant face that invited the sort of confidence a knight had in his humble squire. He reached back and tugged at his own dishwater-colored hair, which had grown a tad too long in the back.

"What do you think?"

"Sorry?" Peter turned to see Caradoc looking evenly at him.

"What do you think?" he repeated, waving a hand. "Of all this?"

"I'm…not sure," Peter admitted, feeling confused. "Do you know why we're all here?"

"You don't know?" Caradoc looked surprised.

"…No," Peter felt rather stupid, although he knew that James and Lily had been the ones determined to keep the meeting a mystery. "What?"

"You know that group of nutters out there attacking people, the Death Eaters?"

"Yes. Well, sort of."

"Dumbledore thinks they're arranging some kind of government overthrow. Word is the Ministry won't listen, so Dumbledore's looking for people to start a resistance."

Peter's stomach dipped. Caradoc was waiting for a response, so Peter grasped at something he could handle: "Dumbledore is here?"

Albus Dumbledore was indeed there, joined by a hard-looking bloke with long hair and a set of piercing black eyes. Dumbledore looked up, his spectacles glinting, and stood to address the room. The place fell silent instantly.

"Hello," he began, clasping his hands in front of him. "I want to thank Mr. Potter and Miss Evans sincerely for allowing me the use of their parlor. I know most of you haven't a clue why I've called you here, so without further ado, let me explain." He paused. Peter pursed his lips; he had anticipated Dumbledore's flair for the dramatic.

"I am quite sure that much of the information you've heard is compiled from whispers and rumor. I am here to offer you the truth."  
Peter glanced around the room; a few people met eyes with him and quickly looked away. Dumbledore went on. "Many of you may be aware of the growing threat looming in our world: a group of witches and wizards known as the Death Eaters, led by the man who calls himself Lord Voldemort."

Dorcas gasped, and the hard-faced man next to Dumbledore glared out at the group; a long scar ran down his left cheek.

"If you are not familiar," Dumbledore continued. "The Death Eaters champion the cause of blood purity—a cause some of you may already be aware of."

Sirius' face hardened.

"Sadly, many have taken up this cause and sympathize greatly with Lord Voldemort's perspective. I know this might not sound like much cause for alarm—after all, this is not a new crusade in our world. However, this particular man is…cunning, and has amassed far more followers than I had anticipated he would."

Dumbledore's expression shifted. His eyes lost their usual sparkle and turned hard. "Voldemort is exploiting an existing weakness—the weakness of prejudice and hatred that so often consumes our hearts. He is very adept at selecting his instruments; usually they are witches or wizards already swelling with resentment and feelings that they are special, important. Better. Lord Voldemort feels these things deeply about himself; therefore he can easily recognize it in others.

"He has already created a divide among families and among friends. People have gone missing, or turned up dead." His voice had lost none of its softness, but he did not sound gentle anymore. The room vibrated with the coiled nerves of two-dozen former students of this great and fearsome man. Peter tried not to fidget or look anywhere but into those chilly blue eyes. "This divide may grow to split all of wizarding society against each other." He turned and walked toward the mantel, one weathered hand reaching up to grasp it. "Many of us know too well what can happen when we are pitted brother against brother, mother against son. Friend against friend."

In the corner. Lily was sitting between James and Sirius, looking at her hands in her lap. Sirius's handsome face was thrown into profile—he was looking right past Dumbledore as if he wasn't there. Peter thought of young Regulus, and of the sister that Lily had mentioned only once.

"Left unchecked, I fear the Death Eaters will soon gain enough power to enact control over the authorities of our world, and potentially attempt to eliminate anyone whom they deem unworthy of the magical community." James wrapped a protective arm around Lily.

Now the headmaster turned back, looking tired. "Which brings me to why we are gathered here today: I have reached out to my students—the very best resource I have—and I could not be more pleased to see that you did not disappoint me," Dumbledore's brow wrinkled. "I'm sorry to say that I should have taken these threats more seriously before now. It appears my initial group of recruits was not enough, despite our age and experience. But I have a deep faith that the abilities and allegiance of the bright and capable young witches and wizards in this room can overcome the growing dark."

Worry flared in Peter's gut. Dumbledore was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing; so certain of their victory. _Maybe you can do this, Dumbledore. Or Sirius and James. But I'm not so sure about me._

"Excuse me." Mary McDonald raised a hand. Everyone turned to look at her. "I''m sorry to interrupt, Headmaster."

Peter wasn't entirely convinced of this. Mary was Lily's closest friend in school—after Snape was out of the picture, of course—so Peter had tried to make nice, but it had not been easy. Mary had always been very outspoken, and considered it her business to interfere.

His face softened and he gestured kindly to her. "Not at all, Miss McDonald. Go on."

"What exactly are you saying? Is this person is going to come after the people who oppose him? And their families?" Her stare was piercing, her back ramrod straight; she looked ready to dash out of the place. Every face turned back to Dumbledore.

He met Mary's gaze levelly. "I'm sorry to say that is true. Voldemort is absolute in his thirst for power, and anyone who does not yield to him will be considered his enemy. That does, sadly, include the threat of violence. Even death."

Peter's eyebrows practically hit his hairline. _Death?_ What exactly were they signing up for, here?

"Thus," Dumbledore said, after a significant pause. "I must ask for your support and participation. It is my intention to form a society that will lead the strike against Voldemort and his followers. Naturally, I will not force anyone in this room to join, and if you are unwilling to take this risk—and I would not fault you if you are not—you are free to leave. But before you do, I must warn you that to speak a word of this meeting or this organization to anyone would be terribly unwise."

Dumbledore's gaze fell on all of them in turn—Peter suppressed a shiver as those eyes passed over him. He had only seen that look in Dumbledore's eyes once before: the night when Sirius had nearly gotten Snape killed.

* * *

Only four people chose to leave. Peter did not recognize the Pakistani wizard or the older black-haired one, but Dirk Cresswell—still a student, and a regular at the Slug Club—ducked out immediately, and Mary McDonald had a barely-stifled argument with Lily in the front hall.

"Mary, you can't be serious?" Lily spoke in a low, disbelieving tone. "Aren't you the one who got so mad at me for associating with 'one of them'?"

Mary cut across her angrily. Peter imagined Mary's permed, red-brown crop bouncing with frustration. "Oh, no you don't. You don't get to blame me for the choices you made in your friendships. Or in your family, for that matter—I actually speak to mine, and I _care_ whether they live or die!" Peter heard the door slam. After a few moments, Lily entered the parlor with teary eyes and a reddened face, her jaw set.

Dread burned in the region of Peter's solar plexus. He wondered how many other people had considered bolting. He couldn't blame them—of all his friends, only he and Remus still had families in the picture. Peter thought of his mother, and thought of what it would be like if he lost her. He wasn't terribly close with his mum, but she was all he had and vice-versa.

 _I should visit her soon,_ he thought fleetingly.

The room was deathly quiet; everyone seemed anxious not to disturb the fragile understanding the remaining witches and wizards had forged.

Dumbledore surveyed the sober faces, then glanced at the hard-faced man with the scar who was glowering by the china cabinet. "This is not an easy decision, and I applaud all of you for taking this risk in order to ensure that we will rise out of this darkness."

Peter glanced sideways at the rapt—if uneasy—expressions on most of the people around him.

"On the theme of rising," Dumbledore continued. "I hereby christen our organization in the name of the phoenix: dedicated to bringing light and healing."

 _And confronting imminent death?_ Peter's brain supplied automatically. Facing death was a lot easier for a phoenix, though, wasn't it? There was always the promise of rebirth on the other side.


	3. Doubts

Most of the group filed out after that, murmuring their respectful goodbyes to Headmaster Dumbledore and hugging Lily and James. Dumbledore took Remus aside. Remus was looking pale and underfed, which wasn't unusual this close to the full moon. His dusty-brown hair hadn't been cut in weeks; it was brushing his collar now.

"Hi, Peter," James threw an arm around Peter's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Sorry we couldn't chat earlier. Obviously there was something a bit more urgent going on." He smiled wanly and scratched at his two-day growth of stubble.

"S'all right," Peter smiled. For a moment, his rosy plan for post-graduate life flashed through his mind: Peter had envisioned getting a flat with the other three after school. They would all be wildly successful at glamorous jobs—maybe a group endeavor—and they'd always be having a laugh.

But then James' parents died and left him the house, and he and Lily had gotten engaged and moved in. Sirius much preferred living alone—the better to entertain _guests_ —and Remus couldn't afford to live anywhere, really. Peter had watched his expectations dissolve in the months after graduation; now he found himself lifting boxes in a shop and living in a pathetic flat above a record store off of Diagon Alley.

Despite this disappointment, it was far worse to confront the reality of Dumbledore's plan to risk their lives. It would not improve his circumstances, or those of his friends.

Lily approached, cradling a stack of plates in one arm. Her free hand held a wand that was levitating several glasses. "Well, that's the last of them. I really shouldn't be as paggered as this after the very first meeting, should I?" She leaned heavily into James, her coppery hair spilling over his shoulder. "Come to the kitchen?"

The Potters' kitchen was bathed in warm, incandescent light—unlike many other wizarding families, they had embraced magically modified electric lights; thin, curly filaments glowed yellow-white in the clear glass bulbs. The cozy light reflected in the brass fixtures and copper pots and threw an orange sheen onto the squat cast-iron stove.

They all settled quietly at the kitchen table; James worried gently at the surface with his fingernail. Sirius straddled a bench and pulled out his pocketknife to scratch a design into its weathered wood. Lily piled the plates in the sink and produced a dusty bottle of red wine that Peter was sure cost more than his rent; the Potters hadn't owned wine younger than their son. She poured them all a glass, plus two extras for Dumbledore and Remus who were still out in the corridor.

Peter sat next to Sirius. On Sirius' other side, Dorcas was leaning her chin on his shoulder, watching his artistry intently. Peter peered down at Sirius' hands—he was etching the tiny outline of a dog into the bench. Peter's mouth quirked up. Sirius had always been the best artist among them—he had been the one to draw the blueprint of Hogwarts onto the Marauder's Map, and he had certainly been the most devastated to lose his masterpiece to Filch. He'd tried in vain to steal it back, adding more and more detentions to his already formidable count.

After a few moments of silence, James cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. "So, what do you all think? It means a lot to me that you all stayed."

Sirius looked up. "Of course, mate. In a scrape, there's no other place I'd rather be. Besides, I'm not going to let you go down in history as some war hero without me."

"Are we really getting ourselves into a war, mate?" Peter asked, trying to sound light. "Honest-to-Merlin battle and bloodshed? Ha-ha." He waited hopefully for James to contradict him, to tell him that the whole thing couldn't be farther from a 'war', but Sirius answered instead.

"I'm looking forward to it," Sirius' voice had a knife's edge that didn't match his dashing smile. "I don't mind being the one to reduce the population of elitist, blood-purist bastards. Maybe I'll even get to pay my cousins a visit." He slugged Peter playfully in the shoulder.

Peter felt a distant panic rising in him. Was this it, then? Is this how wars really began? He had always imagined important government officials at long tables, not a bunch of kids who were barely of age lazing about in a kitchen.

"I think the point is to be covert, Sirius," James said edgily, wiping his glasses on the hem of his shirt. "The last thing we need is more deaths."

Sirius shrugged. "Who said anything about killing?" But he was looking sulky. Sirius was the type who loved to seem swashbuckling and devil-may-care—and he often achieved it, but having James's support was essential.

Dorcas nudged Sirius playfully. "All hopes of glory aside, it means a lot to be a part of something like this, and it's a chance to really make our positive mark on history."

 _So long as that mark isn't a smear on the pavement,_ Peter thought, a little surprised at his own cynicism.

Dorcas was a sweet, patient girl, and incredibly naive; she had to be all three to last a whole eight months with Sirius Black. To Sirius's credit, that was a record for the old dog. Sirius even trusted her with the truth of their status as animagi, a secret that Dorcas seemed quite tickled to be in on. She often had to suppress a delighted grin whenever it came up in conversation.

"Damn right," Sirius agreed, pausing in his project to lean over and kiss Dorcas on the cheek. "This is our chance to carve out the legacy we always talked about!" He kicked Peter's foot under the table and winked.

Doubt gnawed at Peter's mind; he couldn't share Sirius's straightforward enthusiasm. Hadn't they taken History of Magic right alongside him? Didn't they remember what happened to the foolish young wizards who rode out with only their hopes and honor and bravado as armor? Certainly those wizards considered themselves to be heroes fighting for the righteous cause, but history reflected on them as needlessly dead; as reckless men who perished in vain.

 _On second thought,_ he considered, with dark amusement. They had always been more preoccupied with planning their next prank than with paying attention in class. Peter would not be surprised if they'd ignored the section on rebellions altogether.

Perhaps he could tell them. He could remind them of the inadvisability of rushing into a seemingly noble cause. But then, Sirius and James usually felt that anything worthy of their precious attention was meant to be rushed into. How could Peter explain the twisting feeling in his stomach at the sound of Dumbledore's words: _That does, sadly, include the threat of death._

 _I have to at least try,_ Peter thought. _They're my friends._

"I—er." The others turned to look at him, and his mouth went dry. Peter had always gone out of his way to be willing, to be agreeable. Outright disagreement was an unfamiliar and unsettling feeling.

He chose his angle carefully. "I mean, I've read a bit about this guy in the _Prophet_ , but…can it really be as serious as all that? Don't get me wrong—he sounds pretty awful, but is it… _responsible_ to make him out to be the next Grindelwald? No one can even describe the man. Is this enough to cause a full-blown war?"

Most of his friends exchanged blank glances, but Sirius' mouth twisted. "Well, I dunno, Pete. I guess that depends on if you think that blood purity is a worthy cause to fight."

James rolled his eyes. "I don't think that's what Peter, means, Sirius."

Peter tried again. "I just think it's a bit soon to be talking about something we'd be risking our lives over without all the facts."

Sirius snorted. "I guess you never met my relatives, did you, Peter? Never heard the muck they spouted about the 'muggle filth' and 'blood traitors'—"

"I-I didn't mean—" This was going all wrong.

"Peter, it's fine," Lily cut in smoothly. She looked tired, but not unfriendly. "I know that this all seems sudden and I admit there doesn't seem to be a whole lot to worry about on the surface. But all the signs point to a big threat brewing, and Dumbledore's been putting a lot of thought into a response for quite some time." She glared briefly at Sirius. "I suppose James and I should've mentioned something to you all earlier on, but it was Dumbledore's idea, you know. We didn't want to be spreading his business around."

James spoke. "Look, I trust Dumbledore. He's always looked out for us, and I don't think he'd exaggerate something like this. He's in the Wizengamot, for Merlin's sake. The Ministry. Plus, he beat Grindelwald himself. I'm sure he knows a Dark Wizard when he sees one."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Dumbledore. Well, Dumbledore didn't notice three teenage Animagi running around right under his nose, though, did he?"

"Dumbledore might just have been concerned with matters beyond schoolyard pranks, Padfoot." There was a warning in James' voice that Sirius heeded, if grudgingly.

Peter had to agree with Sirius; Dumbledore's intuition was not enough to go on. Did all Dark Wizards look like Grindelwald? Dumbledore was insanely brilliant—and brilliantly insane, if it came to it—and Peter didn't distrust him, but…

A novel prospect floated across his mind: _I don't have to do this._

It was an attractive thought, and he followed its thread.

 _Just walk away clean. Thanks, but no thanks, Headmaster. Let the others handle this—the righteous blokes willing to go all in for the cause. They're better than me; better fighters, more dedicated, with stuck-out necks ripe for the risking._

While Peter deliberated this, James leaned over to kiss Lily's shoulder. "Are you all right, my love? About Mary?"

Lily shook her head. "No. Not really. But I guess we all need to be prepared to make these kinds of sacrifices now. Even when it's hard—even when it means losing your best friend." Her lip trembled, and she gulped her wine eagerly to hide it.

"She was completely tactless. You definitely didn't deserve that." Dorcas reached out to pat Lily's hand. "And all that about your family, as if you don't care." She tutted softly.

"There's no room in the Order for people who don't take this seriously," Sirius said grimly.

Peter felt his stomach drop for the second time in the last hour. He could walk out now and count on never seeing or speaking to his best friends again, or...he met each of the tired and tense faces. How could he leave them? They were the only friends he had, and his family, if it came down to it. What would he have if he left now?

 _Nothing._

The kitchen door swung open to reveal Remus, who was looking even paler now. Lily wordlessly offered him a glass of wine, which he took. "Dumbledore left," he shrugged. "He told me to tell you thanks again." He sat heavily next to Peter.

"What did the old man want?" Sirius murmured; he shaved away a few slivers of wood to indicate fur on the dog's back.

"Sirius! What on earth are you doing?!" snapped Lily, apparently noticing the pocketknife for the first time. "Don't you have any respect for other people's property?"

"Not really," Sirius muttered darkly, observing his handiwork. Dorcas nudged his shoulder gently, but said nothing.

"Lily, it's fine," James put a hand over Lily's. ""He lived here, too—that bench is as good as his."

Peter closed his eyes. _Oh, Prongs—you've put your foot in it now…_

Lily leaned in to James and lowered her voice. "And what am I? A neighbor?"

The only sound for a few moments was the _skrtch-skrtch_ of Sirius's pocketknife. Remus was staring dourly into his wine. Dorcas looked torn; her gray eyes flicked intently from Lily's face to James'.

James inhaled deeply and met Lily's eyes. "Of course not. You know I'm thrilled you're here. It's not really worth—we'll talk about it later, okay?"

Peter glanced sideways at Sirius. His smirk was just visible under his curtain of black hair.

Lily narrowed her eyes at James, but didn't bring it up again. She turned to Remus, her mouth set. "Yes, Remus, what did Dumbledore want?"

Remus glanced up, and quickly averted his eyes. "Oh—er, just wanted to see how I'm doing…since leaving school, and all that." He stared resolutely into his wine. Remus being secretive wasn't unheard of, but he had never been a very good liar. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Sirius watching Remus. He was very still—it reminded Peter of when Sirius sniffed something of interest in his dog form. What scent had he caught?

Lily's steely glare flicked between the pile of wood shavings on the bench, and Sirius' face.

Sirius seemed to sense that it wasn't worth taking the piss, and stood suddenly. "Lark—let's get back, eh?" He stood and reached out to ruffle James' hair again. Dorcas nodded and walked around to kiss Lily goodbye. Sirius jostled Peter's shoulder and patted Moony's head. _Sirius is the only person who could get away with patting a werewolf on the head._ Peter grinned inwardly.

Lily pursed her lips as she watched them go; Peter saw her draw the inside of her cheek between her teeth. James didn't meet her eyes. After a moment, Remus stood. "I should go, too. Got to get back to the Leaky…"

"You still staying there, mate?" James looked concerned; Remus hadn't transitioned as easily as the others after graduation. "You should really have your own place."

When Remus didn't reply, James did precisely what Peter expected. "Then you should stay here."

Lily looked sideways at James, then flicked her eyes up to Remus, who had paused in the middle of putting on his frayed jacket.

"No, James—I can't impose—"

"Moony, you can't impose when I'm insisting."

Peter thought of Dumbledore's office and James's shameful flush. _Dutiful Prongs,_ Peter thought. _Head Boy Potter._

Remus tied on his scarf, looking uneasy, but also unwilling to reject the offer. "Let me go back for tonight and get my stuff. I'll just take one of the spare rooms on the other side of the house. But only for a little while—I'll be out by the end of the summer. I promise." He nodded at Lily, who wasn't looking at him. She was tapping her forefinger on the stem of her wine glass and didn't look terribly pleased with this arrangement. It seemed Lily was starting to realize that marrying one meant inheriting the other three.


	4. A Lesson from Level Two

The Order met again a week later. The hard-faced man was back, and looked forbidding in the parlor doorway as Dumbledore introduced him.

"It is my great honor," Dumbledore began with the usual overblown courtesy. "To introduce to you an esteemed member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Alastor Moody is a former student of mine and an excellent Auror." Dumbledore paused for the inevitable ooh.

Aurors were thought to be very glamorous and dangerous, due in large part to a weekly radio program called Level Two that featured them as hard-boiled, no-nonsense daredevils with a penchant for bending the rules. Moody—with his voluminous black jacket, multitude of scars, and unshakable glare—looked like he'd been shaped directly from the airwaves.

"Alastor has offered his services to our cause, particularly when it comes to the necessary defenses we will require. He has much experience in these matters, and you would do well to listen to his advice." With that, Dumbledore settled himself in an intricately carved chair covered with models of dragons and unicorns.

It was surprising to see a Ministry official risking his job to be part of an underground resistance. But then, Dumbledore was a member of the Wizengamot, wasn't he? Peter wondered what he'd have done if he'd had as much to lose as Dumbledore or Moody—a ministry job, the risk of angering the highest magical authority in Britain. Would it be worth it just to play spy with his mates?

Auror Moody's gruff voice pulled Peter back to the matter at hand. "All right. Dumbledore's told you most of the particulars. I've been with the Ministry for about fifteen years now. It hasn't been a picnic, but when you're doing the important work you don't mind so much. Some of you may know Frank and Alice Longbottom." He gestured to the brown-haired couple Peter had seen at the first meeting.

"Those are the Longbottoms?" James whispered. "Don't look as impressive as I imagined. They're supposed to be bloody brilliant. They graduated Hogwarts in our first year."

Peter looked more closely. The girl, Alice, was petite and round-faced, and Frank was very lanky and wearing a knitted waistcoat. Both were smiling brightly—neither looked particularly strong or fast.

"The Longbottoms are young Aurors yet, but considering the fact that they're still alive, they're doing extremely well!" Moody barked.

Peter wasn't sure if this was supposed to be funny. Neither did anyone else, apparently; there were a few uncomfortable chuckles. The Longbottoms smiled wanly; Frank reached out and squeezed Alice's hand.

Moody scowled. "Oh, come on. Got to have a sense of humor in our line of work!

"Now, most of you are just out of Hogwarts, so you should know about the Patronus Charm, yes? Hands?"

Most of the Order raised their hands, including Peter: he had come across the spell in his Animagus research, but to James and Sirius, transforming themselves was much more impressive than just using any old charm, so they didn't bother learning it. Privately, Peter had tried it a few times, but he gave it up in embarrassment when he spectacularly failed to produce anything at all. "Good. Now, how many of you can perform it?"

Peter's eyes darted around the room. Of those assembled, only Lily and Remus raised their hands. A few of the older members nodded, including the Longbottoms. Moody shared a significant look with Dumbledore, who looked solemn. "Very well," Moody grunted. "Remus, is it? Remus Lupin? How about you give us a demonstration?"

Peter winced. Remus hated being put on the spot, and Moody's stare was unflinching. Remus looked around, head ducked, and pulled out his wand. His eyes squeezed shut tightly; it looked as though the concentration was almost paining him. Just when Peter was beginning to wonder if he was going to do anything at all, Remus' eyes snapped open and he pointed his wand at the empty carpet in front of him.

"Expecto Patronum!" His voice was uncharacteristically firm, and silvery smoke began to pour from his wand. Unsurprisingly, a wolf shaped itself from the mist. Peter did his best not to look around at the crowd's reaction. James, Sirius, and Peter had developed a knee-jerk defensiveness when it came to Moony's 'furry little problem', and it was hard to shake outside of the Hogwarts grounds. A sidelong look at the others told Peter they'd been thinking the same thing.

But Remus looked calm—Peter could even see a few traces of pride showing on Moony's pale face. The wolf was beautiful; Peter was a little embarrassed for thinking it, but it was true. It looked strong, and it shone like a silver sickle. He heard James' breath hitch beside him. "Merlin…"

After a few seconds, the wolf faded and Remus smiled a proud, private smile to himself.

Moody nodded sharply and clapped his hands together once. "Well done, Remus. Now, a Patronus is an immensely useful charm. It's tremendously powerful against lethifolds—nasty buggers, live in tropical places—and more importantly, their close cousins, dementors."

The grins that Remus's brilliant Patronus had inspired were dulled instantly. Lily looked down at her feet, and laced her fingers through James's.

"But why am I wasting time with this on the first meeting? I doubt any of you will be wandering around South America, and I certainly hope you don't end up in Azkaban. You've got more important things to do, right? Wrong." The sharp bark took Peter by surprise. "There's another trick to the Patronus Charm that's a real corker. A Patronus, you see, can communicate." He chuckled roughly as he looked around at the room full of puzzled expressions. "Truth to tell I had the same look on my face, and I thought I heard it all. But it's true. Dumbledore here, blasted fool that he is—" Dumbledore let out a soft tut as Moody laid a strong hand on his shoulder. "Discovered that a good strong Patronus can be used to carry personal messages across considerable distances. How about that?"

Sirius looked positively gleeful at the fact that Moody had just called Dumbledore a 'blasted fool' right to his face.

"As you might have guessed," Moody went on, walking back towards the front of the room. "Each Patronus takes a form unique to the caster—that is, if you get a good handle on it." He winked encouragingly at Remus. "To the average caster it's usually just an indistinct ball of light. Naturally, these forms make it easier to identify the witch or wizard sending the message. I should add that a Patronus can never be duplicated by another caster, although a person's Patronus can occasionally change form. However, this is rare, and typically occurs when a witch or wizard endures a massive emotional upset."

What on earth does that mean? Like a death? Peter had not seen this in his research. While it was pretty obvious that magic was affected by the caster's frame-of-mind (ask anyone who's ever been Splinched), it always seemed the strongest magic was the most temperamental.

"One of the best advantages that a Patronus offers is the ability to identify an ally. Through various sources—ahem—we've discovered that followers of Voldemort don't have the ability to produce a Patronus." Moody exchanged another look with Dumbledore. "There are some theories as to why that is—"

"Because they're a bunch of sadistic bastards?" Sirius hissed in Peter's ear. This was a bit rich, considering the stunts Sirius had pulled on certain students during school, but Peter smiled anyway.

Moody continued. "But I'm sure we can chalk it up to them having a bunch of charred, twisted bits of goose liver where their hearts should be."

Sirius laughed, looking pleasantly surprised, which earned him a wink from Moody.

"The key to a successful Patronus," Moody began, drawing his wand from an inner pocket of his thick black coat. "Is deceptively simple. A Patronus is the essence of goodness and of joy. Or hope."

There were a few smiles and suppressed snickers in the group, and Moody scowled. "Yeah, yeah. I know it sounds very airy-fairy, but if you want to fight the forces of evil, that's the best weapon in your arsenal. Anyway, the point is to call a happy memory to mind, to let it sort of fill you up." Moody glanced warningly around the room at any potential gigglers. "This memory will give shape and power to your Patronus. Not much is known about the ins and outs of all this, it's all beyond me, but we do know that a Patronus is made of a substance nearly identical to an extracted memory. If you've had the fortune to use a Pensieve, I think you'll know what I mean."

Peter hadn't even seen a Pensieve outside of his schoolbooks, although there were rumors that Headmaster Dumbledore had one. One of the wilder theories was that he used it to extract confessions from particularly difficult rule-breakers, but Peter knew from experience that was patently untrue.

"Does anyone know the other benefit of a Patronus?" Moody inquired, rolling his wand in his palms. It spat a few sparks into the air. No one answered.

"It's arguably the most important one—no offense to the good Headmaster."

Dumbledore inclined his head graciously from the carved wooden chair.

Moody's small black eyes narrowed. "Sometimes you see something ugly. Maybe you get called down to a crime scene to examine a body, or you watch a friend of yours get cursed to hell and back. Maybe you have to take down the statement of a brand new widow." He paused, as if remembering, and absentmindedly stroked a faint scar on his chin. When he spoke again, his voice was distant. "That stuff stays with you."

He cleared his throat and started to pace. "Some of you might think you're good in a crisis. You think that you've got the stomach for anything you might see out there…you couldn't be more wrong.

"It will affect you. And if it doesn't now, it'll catch up to you later. Always does. We are the only thing that stands between the ugly and the innocent. We take on that responsibility so others won't have to." His stare burned into each of theirs. "You'll find yourself in a lot of unpleasant situations because of it, and it's good to know you have a spell that'll calm you down and force you to remember the good things in your life."

The room was dead silent. After a moment, Dumbledore coughed softly.

The Auror's hard expression eased. "Er, and it works on those around you too; a good Patronus is better than the strongest Pepperup Potion you can brew."

Moody met James's hazel eyes. "By the leave of Mr. Potter, who owns this drawing room, I'd like you all to give it a go." James glanced around at the parlor and shrugged.

"I don't see why not. No harm in adding a few more memories to this place, eh?" He smiled wanly; Lily rubbed his shoulder.

So they did.


	5. In Which Sirius Can't Do Anything Right

Moody was surprisingly easy to get on with, despite his initially intimidating impression. He would crack dry jokes (and sometimes dirty ones when Dumbledore's back was turned), and he had remarkably interesting stories to tell—particularly about how he got some of his deeper scars. His demeanor provided some much-needed relaxation and confidence to the proceedings, and by the end of the lesson Peter had produced an indistinct rodent that wound around his ankles. James had been the most successful—he was already showing his bright, robust stag off to the room.

"Not terribly exciting is it?" Sirius sidled up next to Peter, his own large dog flickering in and out like a faulty bulb. "After all, we knew what ours would look like."

Peter nodded. "Yeah—doesn't stop James from enjoying it, I see."

"Bah, he's just pleased that his makes a tidy pair with darling Lily's," Sirius waved a hand dismissively. "Honestly, you'd never think they'd hated each other only a year ago."

"Well, James never really hated Lily," Remus pointed out, walking up to stand on Peter's other side. "He just believed that absolutely idiotic old myth that you have to pick on a girl if you fancy her."

"Turned out all right for him though, didn't it?" Sirius frowned. He was watching Dorcas, who was smiling at her own Patronus. It was a meadowlark, perched happily on her slender finger. "I wonder if I had anything to do with that."

"With Lily and James?" Remus said incredulously, still watching James' stag gallop around the parlor.

"No! Gods, no—I mean with Lark's, well, lark. Her Patronus." He looked as though he'd swallowed something unpleasant.

Remus smiled. "I dunno—she does like you a lot, and you did give her that nickname…"

"Only because the name 'Dorcas' is a tragedy," Sirius reminded him, without taking his eyes off of her. "And should never have been inflicted upon so fine a witch."

"Aw, Sirius, you sound almost noble."

"Gryffindors are always noble, Moony. That's kind of the point."

Remus caught Peter's glance and rolled his eyes.

After a few laps around the room, James allowed his stag to dissolve. He grinned at his friends and made his way over. "All right? How have you lot been faring?"

Sirius and Peter shared a quick glance.

"Nearly there. It's definitely a rat…" Peter shrugged. He wasn't exactly disappointed, but there had been a tiny spark of anticipation that his Patronus would reveal itself to be more strapping. After all, who had ever heard of a protective rat? His eyes flicked enviously over the massive white-tailed eagle that Emmeline Vance had produced. Beside her, Marlene McKinnon and Benjy Fenwick struggled to create form from the puffs of silvery smoke that eked from their wand tips. Peter felt a little better for seeing that.

"Yeah," Sirius agreed, crossing his arms. "Padfoot Junior is looking as strong and tough as his forebear."

"His fore-dog?" Remus wondered aloud, twirling his wand in his fingers.

Dorcas's face appeared suddenly over James' shoulder. "Did you say 'dog'? Don't tell me you're thinking of adopting one, Sirius. I think I can only handle one canine at this point." She winked at Peter, who felt his cheeks grow warm. "Besides, your landlord would do his nut." Dorcas walked around Sirius and slid her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder.

"That geezer," Sirius gently shrugged her off. Dorcas looked slightly taken aback, but recomposed her features quickly. Sirius went on, "He's just a mean old stickler who is interested in making his tenants just as miserable as he is."

Peter was always amazed by how resolute Sirius was in his judgment of others; his certainty was impressive

"Well, I said you could come stay with me, didn't I?" Dorcas smiled, but Sirius didn't seem to hear her. She tried again, less cheerfully this time: "You know I have no problem with you staying with me. It's only natural to consider moving in after eight months."

Sirius walked a few paces away from Dorcas to Remus' other side, smiling broadly all the way. "Oh, I know, darling. You're always so thoughtful, you know?" His voice was solicitous and charming, but Peter could see that Dorcas was only partially comforted.

"All right everyone," Moody called out. "I've seen some good work today. Remember that this is a very difficult charm, so there's no shame in taking a few tries to make something happen. Well done, and we'll contact you when we decide on our next meeting time."

Sirius stretched his arms. "Well that was good, wasn't it? Anyone up for a curry? I'm positively famished." He offered Dorcas his arm and looked back at Remus, Peter, and James. Sirius raised his eyebrows and flicked his eyes discreetly to Dorcas, who was looking slightly put out.

"I'll be along," James grinned. "Lily and I just need to see everyone out."

All the way to the restaurant, Sirius chatted loudly about matters completely unrelated to living arrangements, pets, or commitment of any kind. Behind him, the other three boys murmured unhelpful asides when Sirius paused for breath ("You know, I think Snuffles would be a fantastic name for a new dog." "But Snuffles would need a lot more space than Sirius has got. You have a garden, don't you Dorcas?"), and offering discreet handshakes to each other if they got Sirius to glare at them.

* * *

Dorcas excused herself abruptly after dinner without kissing Sirius goodbye. Lily's lips were compressed into a firm line—she glared briefly at James as if it were all her fiancé's fault that Sirius didn't want to move in with Dorcas. James shrugged and looked at Remus for some assistance. "I guess we should call it a night. You coming along, Remus?"

"I'll be along in a bit," Remus nodded to James. "Go on. You won't even hear me come in."

Sirius, Remus, and Peter left together and started down the twilit pavement. Sirius' shoulders were tense under the creased leather of his waistcoat.

"You know, Padfoot," Remus said thoughtfully. "If you don't fancy Dorcas anymore, you should really call it quits."

Sirius' eyebrows dipped over his nose. "It's not that I don't fancy her, all right? She's brilliant when she's not talking about what she wants to name our babies."

"I think you mean 'she's brilliant when she's not talking,'" Peter quirked a saucy eyebrow and elbowed Sirius gently.

"Shut it."

Peter and Remus glanced at each other from either side of Sirius. "I think you might be exaggerating about all the baby stuff," Remus said reasonably.

"Fine," Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets. "She hasn't actually brought babies up. But it's only a matter of time! She's always trying to get me to move in, or talk about James's wedding with her. I can take a hint—I know what she's getting at, and I'm just not with it."

"Have you thought about, I don't know, telling her that?" Remus slung an arm around Sirius' hunched shoulders.

Peter rolled his eyes. Sirius, for all his bravado, was terrible at confrontation unless it involved a punch in the nose or a well-placed Leg-Locker Curse. He was evasive in relationships, often to the point of being outright dishonest. Peter couldn't blame Sirius entirely: all too often his dates were certain that they would be the the one to finally tame Sirius Black for good. They found out pretty quickly that Sirius was two steps ahead of them—typically heading right into a broom closet with someone else.

"Lark was a bloody Ravenclaw. You'd think she would've gotten a clue when I told her I didn't even want to keep a toothbrush at hers."

"Glad we talked you out of that, though," Peter mused. "Dental hygiene is terribly important."

"Ha-ha," Sirius deadpanned. "I just don't understand what's gotten into her. Two months ago we were totally fine. Then James slaps a ring on Evans's finger and all of a sudden I can't get her to talk about anything apart from lace and roses and hairstyles. It's a bloody nightmare."

"Well," Remus measured his response carefully. "I imagine there's a certain amount of envy—women love weddings. After all, it's a day where the world stops to pay all its attention to her. They get to wear a nice dress and stuff. I bet Dorcas just wants what Lily has right now. Besides, I'm sure Dorcas does want to have kids eventually, and she probably figures you want your kids to be friends with James's kids and all that. Girls plan ahead for that sort of thing." Remus shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable—Remus had never dated much.

"Good lord!" Peter laughed. "Can you imagine James and Sirius Junior running around? Causing as much mischief as their old dads?"

"Can you imagine James and Sirius Senior being fathers?" Sirius reminded Peter incredulously. "We're hardly the type."

"Oh, I don't know, Sirius," Remus shrugged. "James'll be a natural once Lily has their first—after all, he was spoiled bloody rotten, so he'll be sure to give the kid whatever he or she could want."

"And don't underestimate yourself," Peter slapped Sirius' shoulder. "You'll be a great dad, if being a spoiled ponce is the measure of one. Or at least a wonderful uncle."

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius waved Peter's hand away and turned to Remus. "So, Remus, I saw that Dumbledore took you aside again earlier. What's he on about now? Is he trying to pull you now that you're no longer a student?"

"That's disgusting," Remus said primly, lifting his nose in the air. The rumors about the unmarried headmaster had only gotten more aggressive as the years went on. "He's about a hundred years old."

"Oh, c'mon, Moony—it would work out great for you. You'd still get off, and you wouldn't have to worry about passing on your furry little problem. And you'd have loads of connections for jobs."

Remus was silent. Peter noticed his hands curl ever-so-briefly into fists.

"Er, Sirius—" Peter began.

Sirius ignored Peter and went on. "So go on, what did Dumbledore really want?"

Remus tried to shrug offhandedly, but it came off more like a twitch. "Nothing really. Just checking up."

"C'mon, Remus, you know I can tell when you're lying."

"It's really none of your bloody business, actually."

Sirius laughed out of sheer surprise and looked to Peter to share the moment. Peter forced his mouth into a line and shook his head. Sirius smiled and inclined his head, pushing his ear out dramatically. "I'm not sure I heard you right, mate."

"I'm sure you did." Remus's voice was soft, but firm. His arms were crossed, and he was staring pointedly at the ground. Peter could see Remus's face starting to redden. Was it anger? Or was Remus starting to tear up?

Sirius stopped walking. Peter paused after a few steps and waited to Remus to stop. But Remus didn't stop until Sirius called out after him. "Look, mate, if you're going to be all pissed off and cryptic, you might as well head back to James's place."

Remus Apparated on the spot.

"Well then," Sirius crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby fence. "That was a bit of an overreaction." He immediately pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one with the tip of his wand and inhaled deeply.

Peter stayed silent—it was usually the best option in these situations. He wasn't about to get in the middle of an argument. Instead, he examined his trainers in the light of the street lamp.

"I mean, what does he expect us to think? He's obviously struggling—he's letting James support and house him, for Merlin's sake!"

Peter chose not to mention the two years that Sirius did the exact same thing.

"I dunno. It just feels like he's keeping something bigger from us." Sirius stared intently into the pavement for a few long seconds, the orange glow of the cigarette reflecting in his eyes. "Whatever. Moony can barely keep a secret. It'll come out sooner or later."

Sirius looked as sure of himself as he ever did, but it didn't take quite so much force to stub out a cigarette end.


	6. The Blood of the Covenant

The next few weeks of Order meetings were devoted to perfecting the Patronus Charm and other useful defensive spells. Emmeline Vance and Remus had managed to be the first to carry a message with their Patronuses, starting a chain reaction of excitement and motivation. Morale was up, and it was easy to slip into the comfortable glow of youthful confidence.

At the end of the meeting, Dumbledore addressed them all, as he usually did. This time, however, instead of encouragement, he brought the mood crashing down to earth.

"You have all made tremendous progress. I wish I could say that all it would take to defeat Lord Voldemort is a few defensive spells. Alas, a darker chapter must be opened now that you've completed the first." He exchanged a look with Moody, who nodded. "Lord Voldemort has had many years to develop a spy network. He has quite the head start on us, and while I've done my best to catch up to him, more must be done. Voldemort has left us very little choice in that regard. Ready or not, we must begin our campaign to counter the information he has already gathered."

Sirius raised a hand. "D'you mean we're going to spy on the Death Eaters?" The possibility seemed to excite him.

"After a fashion," Dumbledore allowed, not meeting Sirius's eye. "There are objectives to be carried out, and that will occasionally require heightened risk. I'm afraid we have only a limited idea of what the Death Eaters are capable of. I assure you, I will do everything I can to keep all of you as prepared as I can. And many of these tasks are low-risk. Many will be voluntary. However, if I assign you to a specific job, be assured that I did so for a reason." He paused. "You can be sure that Lord Voldemort's followers will not hesitate to carry out his instructions."

Peter felt Remus shift awkwardly next to him; the rest of the room was still and silent.

 _Well,_ Peter thought, slightly ashamed. _I suppose that he's not entirely mistaken in that._

Despite his doubts, Peter recognized Dumbledore was the only leader they had—the only general against a mysterious enemy. All Hogwarts students were subject to the living reminder of Dumbledore's great deeds. No matter what you thought of him personally, you couldn't deny that his genius had effected change in the world, in magic and medicine. He had made amazing discoveries, and he was the one who had conquered Grindelwald. Peter supposed there was something to be said for a man who stayed alive when so many had died.

"Thank you all for coming today," Dumbledore attempted a smile, but he looked weary. "I will send all of you a message when the next meeting time is decided. Good night." Chatter began to bubble amongst the Order members. "Sirius, James, Lily," Dumbledore added above the rising voices. "If you wouldn't mind, may I speak to you for a moment? And Remus, don't go away. I'd like a word."

Remus nodded and frowned slightly before settling himself in the chair by the door. He was looking pointedly out the window, jaw working angrily. Dumbledore led the other three into the corridor. Peter tried to appear disinterested, but his gaze followed them out of the room. He angled himself accordingly and watched.

Dumbledore was almost certainly assigning missions. Peter felt a twinge of jealousy mingled with relief. Sirius and James and Lily—and even introverted Remus—were all much stronger and braver than he. Peter sometimes wondered if the Sorting Hat ever placed students not just because of the traits they possessed, but for the ones they needed. Not that Peter wasn't daring; you had to be if you wanted to run with James and Sirius. If you weren't game, what the hell were you hanging around for?

He wondered for the thousandth time where James and Sirius would be if Peter had been sorted into Hufflepuff—his mother's house—for instance. How many times had Peter spotted a teacher coming in the nick of time, or cast _Muffliato_ as Lily Evans was passing during a particularly colorful narration by James and Remus about her knickers?

Peter watched the faces of his friends and his former headmaster: Dumbledore was businesslike and unreadable; James had an arm around Lily and looked apprehensive.

Sirius, unsurprisingly, looked like he was taking every opportunity to interrupt. Peter heard a few snatches of Sirius's raised voice that sounded like "— _bloody insane_ —" and "— _No way I'm doing that!_ "

After four outbursts, James reached up and gripped Sirius's shoulder hard. Sirius grimaced and fell silent. He crossed his arms and stared petulantly into the middle distance.

When Dumbledore turned to address Sirius directly, Peter registered no frustration or impatience on the old man's face. As he spoke, Sirius's hard expression softened somewhat. Once, Dumbledore's long-fingered hand moved to rest on Sirius' crossed forearms; Sirius glanced down at the hand and pressed his lips into a thin line.

Peter felt the buzz of curiosity building within him—what was Dumbledore telling them? What was he making them do? James kept looking nervously at Lily, and Sirius's face had shifted from frustrated to unsure to wooden in a matter of moments. Peter couldn't decide if he should be angry with Dumbledore for putting his friends in grave danger, or thankful that he wasn't the one standing in front of those chilly eyes and white beard.

With one last pat, Dumbledore removed his hand from Sirius's arm and nodded at the three friends before turning and making a beeline for Remus. Peter spared a glance for Remus—he was sitting with his head bowed and his hands folded as if in prayer—but refocused on James, Lily, and Sirius instead.

"Well?" Peter began, drawing closer. "What was that all about?" He knew he was letting himself get overexcited. He felt like an annoying schoolboy all over again. "It's not certain death, is it?" He laughed lamely, then cleared his throat.

"Thankfully no," James sighed, sliding his fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes. "At this point Dumbledore just wants Lily and I to maintain our home as the headquarters. I'm honestly a bit relieved, but Dumbledore assured us that we hardly got the easy way out. Plenty of protection spells and wards to be put up and sustained. He wants us to learn some old magic…really old. He wants the strongest spells in case they try to attack us here."

"Here?" Peter found that a bit hard to believe. "I mean—would they really? Aren't they supposed to be keeping a low profile? After all, the Ministry is basically pretending they don't exist."

The Minister hadn't even come forward to mention the Death Eaters, which Peter found slightly odd. Sure, they had Aurors monitoring for dark wizards at all times, but Minister McLaird should have made a statement by now…

James leaned into Lily, who rubbed comforting circles on his back. "I don't think they care much whether the Ministry believes in them or not, Pete."

This wasn't a satisfactory response. Peter had the distinct impression he was being brushed off. He assumed a stunned expression; playing dumb usually worked—they expected him to be the fawning idiot forever. "Blimey. What about you, Sirius?"

Sirius shrugged and walked away without a word.

"What's up with him? Is it very bad?" Images of international espionage, _femmes fatales_ , and life-threatening acts of derring-do flashed across Peter's mind. He wasn't sure why Sirius seemed so upset—that sounded right up his alley.

"Dumbledore asked him to reach out to his family," James said. They watched Sirius light a cigarette, perched unhappily on the porch railing. "Needless to say, that idea wasn't his cup of tea."

"Dumbledore believes the most important thing is to use our influence however we can," Lily broke in. "He thinks Regulus might be a target for the Death Eaters—a model member, you know, given his family history. But there could be a chance that he'll listen to Sirius and join the Order. Dumbledore wants us all to stay close to our families; he asked me to reach out to Petunia…" She trailed off and met James's eyes briefly. "Maybe I can talk to him."

They all turned to look at Sirius, who was still hunched on the railing. Peter had only met Regulus a few times; he had been a nice enough kid, quite shy. Peter imagined it would be hard for a little brother to follow Sirius's act. Sirius was handsome, popular, and an unabashed rebel. That only left a few areas for Regulus to excel in, and one of them was, unfortunately, maintaining the family legacy, which Sirius had so elegantly abandoned. Peter pitied both brothers: one had expressed a different opinion and had been blasted off the family tree, and the second brother had the pressure of the Slytherin and Black legacies to uphold; Peter did not expect that was a light burden.

Lily was watching Sirius with a tenderness Peter had never seen her direct at Sirius before. She hesitated, chewing her lip, then walked with measured steps to the porch, where she gently disengaged the crumpled cigarette pack from Sirius's fist. She took one for herself before settling next to him on the railing.

"I didn't know Lily smoked," Peter said with something like awe in his voice. Lily had always made him a little nervous, even once James had charmed her and brought her into the fold. She was slender and smart and intimidatingly pretty, even when she was a swotty prefect. Now she was inhaling the smoke expertly and looking every inch a sultry, grown-up woman, like the ones in the old films.

A tiny frown creased the space between James's brows. "Neither did I."

Years ago, I read an excellent Snape/Lily author called fayjay and since then the image of Lily as a smoker has been burned into my brain. 3


	7. The Water of the Womb

_6 September, 1978—_ The Daily Prophet _reports: A rash of grisly murders has swept over wizarding Britain, gripping the nation in fear. These seemingly random murders are linked by a single, haunting image: a serpent protruding out of the mouth of a skull. The ministry has offered no comment on the emblem's apparent connection to the gang known as the Death Eaters. Citizens are understandably disturbed, and have reached out to several sources regarding all possible connections to the evil omen. Horace Slughorn, president of the Slytherin Alumni Alliance, insists that there is no link between what is coming to be known as "the dark mark" and the ancient symbol of Slytherin House._

* * *

Peter once again found himself staring at the late Potters' large oak door. The twin brass door-knockers were shaped like lion heads that really roared if you tapped them on the nose with your wand. Peter remembered Mr. Potter laughing loudly at that, his left hand clasped jovially around his full belly as he tapped the lions' noses again and again for James and his young friends. Had they already been dead for a quarter year?

Peter sensed a chill in the air. The sun was setting, and autumn was coming on.

He raised his wand to touch the lion's nose, paused, and knocked instead. Remus answered, looking harried. "How is he?" Peter asked, stepping inside and pulling Remus into a one-armed hug.

"About as good as you'd expect," Remus shrugged. "He's a bloody mess. James is with him, and Lily's making tea."

Sirius's talk with his family had not gone well. James had owled Peter immediately when Sirius had pulled up on his new motorbike with a bloody nose. In the kitchen, Lily was pouring the kettle, steam rising in thin swirls. She glanced over her shoulder as they entered.

"Lily," Peter nodded, hugging her briefly. Her hair smelled like woodsmoke from the pot-bellied stove.

"Peter, thank God. It's—it's pretty bad. James took care of the nose, but he won't tell us what else they did to him." Her eyes were piercing in her fear. "I'm dreading the worst. I mean, I knew that Petunia wouldn't agree to reconcile when I tried to talk to her, but I thought at least Regulus would—" Lily twisted her fingers nervously. "At least Petunia couldn't really have done me any harm."

Peter glanced around the kitchen. "Where's Dorcas? Is she on her way?"

Lily exchanged a glance with Remus. "We thought it would be best if we didn't make her worry."

At that, James opened the back door. He shook his head at Lily. "Pete," he said seriously. "Thanks for coming, but we might as well leave him. I'm not sure how much we can do at this point. I've never seen him in this state."

Peter felt his brow crease automatically. "But—you've all talked to him, yeah?" James, Remus, and Lily met each other's eyes, then nodded at Peter. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like my chance, thanks." Without another word he strode purposefully to the back door and paused. He hoped he appeared more confident than he felt. Sirius had been known to pull out some nasty jinxes when he didn't want to be bothered.

Peter peered cautiously around the edge of the door. Sirius was hunched on the back steps, his face buried in his crossed arms. Peter edged around the door and padded softly to the steps.

"Oi," he said gently, and sat.

There was no response. Peter watched Sirius's shoulders rise and fall with each breath.

"I'm sorry, mate," Peter said simply, looking out into the Potters' garden. "They were bang out-of-order, as far as I can tell." Still no reply, but he got the sense that Sirius wasn't ignoring him. Being an only child, Peter could not really fathom sibling dynamics, but he knew what brotherhood meant.

"It might feel like you've got no family, but you must know that you do." Peter once again envisioned the fantasy-flat that they all would have shared. "You know you've got Prongs and Moony and me." He dared to nudge Sirius playfully on the arm. "And now you've got Lily—and Dorcas, you lucky bastard." He heard a soft _heh_ at that.

"Really!" Peter went on. "I know we like to take the piss about needy girlfriends and all that, but she's a real catch. We all know how shit I am with birds; I'd be lucky to find a girl half as good as Lark. Even if her real name is Dorcas."

Sirius lifted his head, and Peter was surprised to see that his handsome face was wet with tears. "And all this time I thought you were a pouf, Wormtail. Fetch me a cigarette, will you?"

"Says the half-pouf," Peter shot back, grinning. A bubble of pride swelled in his chest; he supposed he'd gotten too used to getting bossed around, but this meant that Sirius was getting back to normal.

He stuck his head into the kitchen and smiled. "Anyone got Sirius's fags?" James, open-mouthed, passed a wrinkled pack into Peter's outstretched hand. "Thanks!"

Outside, Sirius lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Nice not to get the third degree from you. Not like the others." He rubbed his face with the heel of his hand and studied his black boots intently.

That accounted for Sirius' unwillingness to speak up—he hated being asked to explain himself. Peter picked a blade of glass, placed it between his thumbs, and whistled idly.

"I thought I had Reg."

"Sorry?" Peter shot Sirius a sideways glance. Sirius was not the type for heart-to-hearts. He'd seen Sirius angry loads of times, but never regretful or introspective.

"I thought I had Reg, for a minute there." He exhaled, the smoke curled out of his nostrils. "I could see the doubt in his eyes. He's always looked up to me, you know. Even when Mum and Dad were squawking about what a terrible son and influence I was…well, I could tell he wanted to come. He—" Sirius's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat gruffly. "When I grabbed his arm I saw it. Tattooed on."

Peter's stomach dropped. " _No._ "

"That's when he got me in the nose," Sirius shrugged. "I think I scared him, grabbing him like that. He never liked horseplay, or wrestling. Nothing like that."

Peter stared bleakly into the growing dark as Sirius dissolved into sobs beside him, the orange of his forgotten cigarette dimming to grey ash.

"How could it have gotten that far, Pete?" He buried his face into Peter's shoulder. "And Mum and Dad got all silent when they saw it branded on him, like they were ashamed! Bloody rich of them, as if they hadn't told us since we were in the bloody cradle that the pureblood cause was the right one. The only acceptable one!" He sniffed wetly and relit his cigarette with the tip of his wand. "Stupid. So _stupid_ of Reg to fall for it. Bloody stupid."

Peter felt numb. The dark mark, his mind echoed. When the ugly symbol had made its first few appearances, Dumbledore had expressed concern that it represented a banner they could unite beneath.

Hadn't it been enough to mock the dead by hanging it over their bodies? Now You-Know-Who had gone and stamped it on his followers' bodies as well.

"Stupid," Sirius muttered again, sounding angry. "That idiot, always sucking up to Mum and Dad." He turned the cigarette out on the stair and stood abruptly, wiping his face once more. Suddenly, a new man stood before Peter, rosy-cheeked and clear-eyed. There was no hint of the hunched, tearful figure of only moments before. "Well, Pete. Guess we'd better go in and face the music. But let me tell it, would you?" Sirius cleared his throat again and flashed a devilish grin. It didn't reach his eyes.

Peter nodded sadly. He wondered if he could ever be a match for Sirius when it came to saving face. Sirius sauntered back into the house. As usual, Peter followed.


	8. International Relations

Two weeks later, Remus left.

James, Peter, and Sirius stood outside of the Potter house to say their goodbyes. Lily was on the porch, her arms crossed like she was fighting back a chill.

In the last fleeting weeks of summer, Remus had become increasingly guarded. James had gone to wake him half a dozen times over the last month to find his bed empty and unused. When confronted, Remus was coy about his whereabouts, claiming a desire to "give Lily and James space". No one bought it, but no one could get a word out of him otherwise.

Now he had gotten the idea into his head to disappear for an undetermined amount of time, to God-knew-where, in the midst of a crisis. Peter could not explain it—why would Remus separate himself from the relative safety of the Order with only a handful of supplies and no backup?

"It's only for a little while," Remus assured them, hauling a single, small pack over his shoulder. "I have things I need to do." He was wearing a new light brown traveling cloak; Peter wondered vaguely how he had paid for it.

"Are you sure, Moony?" Sirius' face was closed up; he looked like he was on the verge of an outburst he was desperate to control. "You'd tell us if there was a problem, wouldn't you? And what's with the cloak? You look like my fucking grandmother."

Remus smiled, but it was guarded. "Don't worry, I'll be back for the wedding."

"That's not what we're worried about," James frowned. "We just want you to be safe. You know this isn't a good time to be traveling alone, especially as a member of the Order."

"I'll be fine, Prongsy," Remus reached out to take James's hand in both of his and shook it. "I can't thank you enough for your hospitality." He lowered his voice and affected a conspiratorial tone full of false cheer, ""I'm sure Lily can't wait to be rid of me and have you all to herself again." He looked over James's shoulder and waved jovially at Lily, whose brow creased. She waved back and tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

"See that?" Remus said lightly.

"Come off it," Sirius cut in sharply, gripping Remus's arm. "You know she's as worried for you as we are. She wouldn't trade your life for a bit of an inconvenience at home. It's not like they haven't already loaned their house out to the Order."

Remus disengaged himself gently from Sirius's grasp. "I don't want to fight—not about this. Not when there are many more important things to be fighting for. You can't stop me from going."

Sirius snorted and turned away. He pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it, taking a deep pull. "Fucking stubborn werewolves," he muttered.

"Is there anything you need from us before you go?" Peter asked, twisting the hem of his tee shirt with one hand. "Or while you're gone?"

Remus smiled and put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Don't look so low, Peter. I'll be back soon. Just keep working with the Order and doing your duty and we'll all be fine. I'll be in touch when I can."

Peter was not comforted. James looked stern, and Sirius wouldn't even turn to meet Remus' clouded hazel eyes. Remus shrugged one shoulder. "Goodbye, then."

"See you soon," James said firmly. "And be _safe_."

"I will," Remus nodded, offering one last warm smile before Disapparating with a crack.

James's shoulders slumped and he shook his head. "Bloody idiot. Always thought he was the responsible one."

"He's lost his bloody mind," Sirius agreed, grinding his cigarette out with the toe of his boot. "Gotta hand it to him, though. He was always good at keeping his mouth shut. Just never thought he'd use that particular talent on us. Where the devil d'you think he's going?"

They all stared at the spot where Remus had stood just a moment before.

"You know, I'm sure he'll be fine." Now James's voice was full of conviction, willing it to be true.

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "He'll be back soon, just like he said.""

Sirius looked skeptical, but he shrugged. "Sure, any day now."

* * *

6 October, 1978— _The Daily Prophet reports: Celebrated Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore may have ties to a secret government resistance, based in rumors that the headmaster has lost faith in the minister's ability to handle what he feels is "an international emergency". While Dumbledore has indeed expressed severe disapproval of the Ministry's handling of You-Know-Who in recent months, is that enough to drive a well-respected official to organizing a coup? Philanthropist Lucius Malfoy, 24, believes so: "Dumbledore has tried repeatedly to assert his own reckless leadership; he fought the minister's wise choice to discount the panic over these trivial rumors. It wouldn't surprise me at all if Albus got the idea into his head to create a group to lead against the minister. I can only imagine what he's telling his students. The school governors must investigate any inappropriate measures he may be taking. Perhaps the Ministry should take an interest as well." Dumbledore did not return a request for comment._

* * *

"Well, _this_ is bloody awful," Sirius said conversationally, turning the newspaper over. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the parlor, surrounded by a handful of Order members who had stopped by to inquire, fruitlessly, about Remus' mysterious departure.

James was seated in a high-backed chair across from Sirius, his hands folded in front of his stern mouth, wand cradled in the crook of his elbow.

Lily was fidgety. One moment she was balanced on the arm of James' chair, the next she was walking to the embroidered velvet curtains to pick off imaginary fuzz. Out the window, the greyish sky was broken by pockets of cold sunshine.

Dorcas was draped over the chaise Sirius was leaning against, a hand clasped firmly over her eyes. "I think I'm getting a migraine."

"It's not that bad," Marlene McKinnon ventured. She was perched on the edge of a footstool and nibbling her thumbnail. "After all, they didn't say much about us at all. It seems like they were more interested in letting Lucius Malfoy say rude things about the Headmaster." She wrinkled her freckled nose.

"That wanker," James frowned. He twisted his wand in his hand, throttling an imaginary throat. "He's just trying to throw them off the scent! Make people think twice about Dumbledore—about if their worry is even real! Sneaky bastard."

Sirius shook the paper and peered closer. "McLaird made a comment about Dumbledore: _'Minister McLaird assures our correspondent that Dumbledore has no designs on overthrowing the current administration: "Albus is a loyal servant of the ministry, and has been for years. He is every inch a public servant, and he has fulfilled his duties admirably."'_

"Well, that's all right," Peter said, trying to be diplomatic.

Frank Longbottom rolled his shoulders irritably. "Thankfully the Minister is on his side…for now…but we can't be sure that this will last forever. The last thing we need is for the Ministry to start keeping a closer eye on Dumbledore."

Lily was pacing now. "And what about the fact that they're completely writing off the people that have died! How could the _Prophet_ report a story like this after all of the writing they've done on the dead families and the obvious evidence that the Death Eaters are a real threat?!"

"The press is bloodthirsty, Miss Evans."

Moody and Alice were standing in the doorway; Moody's imposing bulk filled the space easily. "'Anything for a story', as they say," he grumbled. "They don't care much about allegiances. Just selling papers. And I wouldn't really be surprised if somebody gave 'em a little incentive to publish this poor excuse for news."

"Do you mean someone _paid_ them to write terrible things about Dumbledore?" Dorcas looked deeply affronted.

"Oh, don't look so shocked," Moody said, settling deeply into the carved chair where Dumbledore usually sat. "That's how these things go in a war."

The younger members exchanged an uncomfortable look. It was one thing to call it a war in your own head or among friends, but to hear it spoken by a real soldier—it seemed much more final when a scarred face was saying the words.

Dorcas peered at the article over Sirius' shoulder. "It says here Dumbledore called it an 'international emergency'. Why can't we just get in touch with some of the other ministries? Couldn't they talk some sense into our officials?"

Moody snorted. "Well, they could, if they gave a damn."

"You mean they don't know what's going on here?" Marlene drew her knees up to her chin, eyes curious.

Alice and Moody shared a look.

"Quite the contrary," Alice started gently. "Dumbledore has reached out to several leaders—"

"Unfortunately, they don't see it as their problem," Frank finished tersely, leaning against the fireplace mantel.

"Why on earth not?" James frowned.

"Well, Potter, to name a few," Moody raised a hand and began to tick off the reasons on his fingers. " _It doesn't affect them._ It seems cruel, but it's true. How many despots have risen to power without interference from neighboring nations? Secondly, they have their own problems. Just as our problems seem the most urgent and important to us, their own internal issues are the most important to them. Thirdly…well, some of 'em might just realize the danger they'd be putting their people in by helping us."

Peter saw the sense in this, but he also had the sense not to say so.

"Of course, whether they help us or not, the safety of their people will certainly be compromised if Voldemort isn't stopped. _Soon_."

After a moment of chilly silence, James spoke up. "What can we do?"

Moody smiled, as if he'd heard a mildly amusing joke. "Do? There's nothing to be done—not about the other ministries, that is. As for Voldemort, just follow your orders and be the best witch or wizard you can be." He exchanged a nod with Alice. "Which brings me to why I'm here..."

* * *

Moody, as it turned out, had not come to headquarters to offer his political perspective, but to propose extra practice time regarding cursing, hexes, and defensive magic. He enlisted the assistance of Alice Longbottom, who kindly said the study group was open to all members but personally—and privately—recruited those who Moody felt needed a little extra help. Peter was one of them.

Peter didn't mind extra practice so much. It satisfied Sirius and James that he was committed; an active participant in the Order and in the missions. Plus it sharpened his skills, which he had to admit were a bit rusty. James and Sirius had always been fast learners—even if they didn't like to try—and Remus tried so hard he could usually keep up. Peter did not have that luck in either case. Thankfully, his friends were distracted enough by their duties that they didn't have much time to make jokes about his needing to be tutored.

"No shame in it," Moody said resolutely. "I had to retake a Concealment and Disguise exam during Auror training. Botched the Polyjuice Potion so badly I burnt a hole right through the cauldron. A poor housefly sitting underneath got turned into half a—well, let's just say it wasn't pretty. But I _learned_."

"Don't forget about the time with your wand and your trouser pocket—"

"Yes! Yes. Thank you, Alice!" Moody said loudly, looking flustered. "Now! On to more important matters."

Moody and Alice were a good team. Moody's rough edges were softened in Alice, who was warm and endlessly patient. Once, she had stayed after an Order meeting for five extra hours to help Sturgis Podmore finally speak through his Patronus (the chosen message had been _Thank you, Alice_ ).

Mercifully, Peter was not quite at Podmore levels of inadequacy, and he mastered the Blasting Curse without much hassle.

"Well done, Peter! I'm very impressed by your improvement." Alice slung her bag over her shoulder: it had a daisy on it. Her face was glowing pink from dodging minor curses and throwing defensive spells. "I think the last thing we need to work on is adjusting your aim, which we can pick up on after the next meeting. And of course you can owl me if you want some extra practice time. I get Thursdays off from the office, usually. Naturally the Ministry hasn't noticed they need us to fight Voldemort yet," she rolled her eyes. "So my schedule is regular."

"Sure." Peter felt his own cheeks getting pink, but not from the practice.

He knew Alice was married, of course, and several years older than him, but he privately relished the extra hours he got to spend in her cheerful, intelligent company. He stood at the front door and waved as she stepped onto the lawn and Disapparated.

"I see what you're about."

"Sorry?" Peter whirled around, attempting to look like he hadn't just been startled out of his skin. James and Sirius were looking expectantly at him, twin grins of mischief spread across their faces.

"All this time you were looking for an older lady. And _married_. You sly dog—no, that's me. You sly _rat_." Sirius patted him on the shoulder and looked out to the spot where Alice had just stood. "She's cute. Nice round—"

"It's not like that." Peter felt himself flushing again. "She's just helping me, that's all."

"But not as much as you'd like her to help you, I bet," James winked. "I'd watch out though. Her husband probably has a license to torture anyone that pervs on his wife."

"I wasn't perving on his wife!" Peter said firmly, closing the front door and stalking past his chuckling friends. "And besides, she could probably hex the daylights out of me without Frank's help."

"I like a feisty woman," Sirius remarked. He and James followed Peter into the kitchen where Lily and Dorcas were sharing a pot of tea.

"What feisty woman?" Dorcas frowned, her teacup stopped halfway to her lips.

"Peter's got a thing for Alice, that's all—oi!" James recoiled, clutching his suddenly sore upper arm. "No need to get upset, Petey. Keep your hands to yourself."

Peter scowled. He hovered by the table, debating whether to sit down or storm off self-righteously and Apparate back to his flat.

He sat down.


	9. The Imprint in an Empty Bed

13 October 1978— _The Daily Prophet reports: The Ministry faces building rage from the community as a third case of kidnap goes unsolved. Like the previous cases, the victim—in this case, six-year-old Cora Bailiff—was taken from her home in Martindale and her parents, Tony and Demeter, were found viciously slaughtered elsewhere in the house. Only one parent has survived these horrific killings. Geraldine Spindle, twenty-seven, pleads with the unknown kidnappers to return her young son Charlie, who was taken from his room two weeks ago during her shift at the local pub: "Whoever you are, my Charlie is all I have. I'll pay you anything—I'll do anything you want to have him home again. Please."_

* * *

In late October, Remus sent a tantalizingly brief letter:

 _"I'm doing fine, Love to all."_

Six little words to account for weeks of mysterious travel.

Dumbledore had not been helpful when they brought the letter to him. They cornered him after that day's Order meeting to ask if Dumbledore knew anything about Remus's departure or where he had gone.

The three of them piled frantic questions into the headmaster, who finally lifted one long-fingered hand to quiet them. "I understand you are concerned for your friend. That is a credit to you. But Remus's affairs are his own business, and he may share them with whomever he chooses. I assure you, he seemed quite well and very capable of making his own decisions when I saw him last."

Sirius stormed away, silent with barely-repressed rage. They heard the door slam and, a few moments later, the rev of his motorbike.

James pushed his glasses up into his thicket of black hair and rubbed his eyes wearily. "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's quite all right. Remus is well aware of the risks he is taking in this…uncertain time, and he is equipped to handle himself. I trust you have faith in your friend's abilities." He peered over his spectacles meaningfully.

James and Peter exchanged a guilty look. They hadn't intended to suggest that Remus wasn't capable of taking care of himself. Chastened, James and Peter waved Dumbledore goodbye and waited for Sirius to return from his ride.

Outside, the leaves had turned and fallen. The crumpled husks skittered through the gutters like spooked horses.

The moon had risen completely by the time Sirius finally returned. Wordlessly, he entered the parlor and sat down. James and Peter, who had been speculating about the meaning of Remus's scant correspondence, did not bother to question where Sirius had come from. Upstairs, Dorcas was hemming Lily's wedding gown.

James studied Remus's handwriting in the light of the fire. They had already tried all the revealing spells they knew, but the words remained resolutely the same, and resolutely six. "How on earth will he get through the change?" James wondered. "Unless wherever he went has a cellar with particularly thick walls and a padlocked door."

"No idea," Peter shrugged, flipping through an old book about magical botany he had grabbed randomly from one of the bookshelves. "I did read something in the _Prophet_ the other day—they're trying to make some kind of medicine for werewolves. Maybe he went to test it out?"

Sirius made a humming sound in the back of his throat. "Doubt it. You know Remus—he can be a bloody martyr when it comes to his lycanthropy. Sometimes I think he secretly enjoys being all _dark_ and _tortured_ —"

A terrible scream shattered the night.

The boys exchanged looks of horror before James and Sirius fled towards the sound.

 _Oh shit._

Instead of following them, Peter's feet hammered up the stairs.

 _I'm going to die. They've found us. What did Alice say about that spell? Shit, they're going to kill me._

He reached the top and turned frantically in every direction.

 _Now what?!_

He stood very still, listening in the half-darkness of the landing. There were no sounds of pursuit, nor were screams of pain coming from the direction James and Sirius had run in. His heart rate slowed, and the panic started to fade.

 _God, I'm an idiot. Way to look like a fucking wimp, Wormtail._

At that moment, the bedroom door opened and Dorcas swung out into the hallway.

 _Yes—the girls._ "Dorcas! Lily! Are you all right?"

Dorcas looked past him, over the railing. "We're all right, Peter, thanks. What WAS that?!"

Lily's face was pale and startled, peeking just around the door frame. "Where's James?"

Peter sagged against the wall, feeling slightly sheepish. "He, er, went to check things out with Sirius."

Dorcas inhaled sharply, throwing down her scissors. "Stupid! If Sirius gets back here alive I'll kill him!"

Lily was still pale, but she had donned a rigid mask of calm. "Thank you, Peter. For looking in on us."

Peter nodded dumbly, a fiber of guilt threading its way through his stomach. _Better to look chivalrous than cowardly._

The front door opened again, and a stern-faced James stalked to the parlor. Peter descended the stairs in time to see him throw a handful of powder into the now-roaring fireplace. "Dumbledore!" he called, his voice thick with anger. "There's been an attack."

A young man and his wife were dead, just one block from the Potters' mansion. The Dark Mark hovered over them like smog in the orange light of the streetlamps.

* * *

Once the authorities had taken the bodies away, James, Lily, and Dumbledore strengthened the wards on the house three times over. Dumbledore anointed James' and Lily's heads and doorposts with what looked like blood—an ancient magic, he had assured them solemnly. He chanted some strange old words in a language Peter did not recognize, although the meaning of the words seemed to call out to him. By the time the chant was finished, their lintels and foreheads looked clean, as if the blood and its protection had been absorbed into them.

Moody had been with Dumbledore when James called and was now puffing a pipe at the kitchen table, where everyone was gathered under the single pendant lamp. The yellowish light gave every complexion a sickly cast.

"They're getting bolder," Moody said gruffly, pausing to exhale blue smoke. "Right out in the open like that and we didn't even get a whiff of it. How the devil did we miss this, Albus?!" He pounded a fist on the scarred table.

Dumbledore's face was blank. "I'm not sure, Alastor. I plan to examine the scene further before I make any judgments."

"The attack might not have happened here, though," Dorcas broke in, nervously spooning far too much sugar into her teacup. "They could have brought the bodies here to scare us? Right?"

Moody grunted in annoyance. "Miss Meadowes, the fact that they know enough to lay the bodies where they did—whether they killed them here or not—is cause for significant alarm."

Dorcas shared an uneasy glance with Lily, who squeezed James's hand. Next to James, Sirius was cleaning his nails with his pocketknife. "But why didn't they wait to get the drop on us?" He flicked a speck of something away. "If they know we're close by, all they had to do was wait behind a tree or something."

"They haven't been fighting openly," James observed, rubbing his chin. "They sneak into people's homes, they kidnap. They probably waited out of sight for their chance, caught them off-guard, then Disapparated the moment they cursed those poor people. They leave a mess sometimes, but they don't leave themselves open to being potentially overpowered."

Dumbledore nodded. "At this point, our best ally is information. Let's see what we can do to set up an information exchange. I think it's also time we established a night watch of some kind, so we can respond to whatever information we receive as quickly as possible."

"Here," Lily remarked stiffly. It seemed more like a statement than a question.

"Naturally," James replied, releasing her hand to place his elbows on the table. "We can set up a home base in the parlor. My dad had some old two-way radios—I imagine they're up in the attic somewhere—and we can give the other end to a field team or something—"

"And they can radio in with tips," Sirius finished, pocketing his knife. He and James shared an eager look.

"We'd have to change the field location sometimes," Moody warned. "Can't get complacent."

"We can change it based on the tips we get—" James stopped himself, then turned to address Moody directly. "I know the Ministry won't let you and the other Aurors investigate Voldemort and stuff…but is there any way you could get information to us? Does anything make its way in?"

James' hopeful and slightly pleading look was disarming, and he knew it. It was the right balance of forceful idealism and vulnerability that cracked even the toughest teachers.

 _Except Dumbledore, of course,_ Peter thought, recalling that late, unpleasant visit to Dumbledore's office in fifth year.

But that time, he'd turned himself in. James had not intended to escape that particular tight corner.

 _And it had gotten him a Head Boyship,_ Peter recalled with slight envy.

Perhaps Dumbledore had recognized James's quality despite being unmoved by his manipulative charm: James was a natural leader. He'd had a way of persuading even the most reluctant students to go his way, whether he was shepherding a first year into bed or luring the target of a prank to the right spot.

 _Or getting beautiful girls to give him a chance,_ Peter thought. His eyes flicked to Lily, who was looking at James with consternated affection.

Moody exhaled with a groan. "Oh, very well. I'll see what I can do." He stood heavily to leave.

Sirius and James exchanged a brief look of triumph. "Thank you, sir," James finished, suppressing a megawatt grin. He surreptitiously tapped his knuckles against Sirius's.

A natural leader, and Sirius was his natural lieutenant. Dorcas watched Sirius sideways, eyes clouded.

Dumbledore rose as well, looking preoccupied. "Thank you for contacting me so quickly, James. We all need a bit of rest after that."

"Certainly, sir," James added seriously, grin disappearing. "Good night."

And so, every night two Order members would come spend the night in the parlor. Lily and James did their best to make the team comfortable with self-refilling pots of tea and as much Wizard Chess or Gobstones as they wanted to play. The wireless radio buzzed faintly in the background—the corresponding radio was with another team who kept watch in the field.

Moody would wring as much as he could from his coworkers without attracting suspicion. Unfortunately the tips were few and far between, and most shifts provided nothing except several wasted hours of wireless static.

* * *

Since Remus had gone—and since both the public discomfort and body count were rising—Peter , Sirius and Dorcas had become fixtures at James' and Lily's place. Sirius called it "helping to look after things"; Peter and Dorcas called it "helping to look after Sirius."

At least one of the group would stay behind at the end of the day and sleep in a guest room or on the parlor sofa. Lily and James half-heartedly argued that it wasn't necessary, but it wasn't hard to see that they were comforted by it. _Strength in numbers,_ Lily would repeat as she turned down the covers of a guest bed.

Remus had not sent any other messages since last month, and the tension of his steady absence—not to mention the growing horror of even more reported murders and disappearances—was starting to fray everyone's nerves.

Sirius especially was looking for something to hex (or hit), and often went out on long, aimless motorbike rides in the middle of the night. He usually didn't return until morning, where an anxious and irritated Dorcas was waiting for him at James' front door.

"We went through this with Remus, didn't we?" she'd lectured after the fourth time. From the kitchen, Lily and Peter heard the door creak closed and the clunk of Sirius' helmet on the floor. "He'd disappear out of bed at all hours, too."

"C'mon, Lark. You know this isn't like that—"

"Well, _how_ should I know?! You don't tell me anything about how you're feeling! In fact, you've barely spoken to me for weeks! _Don't talk._ " Her voice got low and deadly. "I don't mean when you crawl into bed with me after you've had a few Firewhiskys. I don't mean the little ' _my meadowlark_ 's and ' _darling_ 's that you think make everything all better!"

Her voice was rising now, carrying with it all the building rage that she had gathered as she paced the foyer, awaiting his return. "It doesn't! It doesn't make _anything_. All. Better. And I've let you get away with it for too bloody long!"

Peter had never heard Dorcas so fierce. He and Lily exchanged a surprised look as they sipped their tea.

"I don't think I've ever heard her yell before," Peter whispered, as though Dorcas's ire would fall on him as well if he spoke too loudly.

"Me neither," Lily agreed, and gave him a satisfied smile. "About time someone told that boy what's what."

He wondered if Lily knew that James would occasionally slip out of bed to join Sirius on his jaunts, then slip back in the wee hours before his fiancée awoke. Peter doubted it. He doubted even he was supposed to know, but he had stayed in one of the spare bedrooms for the last six nights and had spied James and Sirius jetting off on the motorbike from his window. The rev of the returning bike was not hard to miss; Peter had always been a light sleeper and true rest was harder and harder to come by these days,

Dorcas burst through the kitchen door, her purple dressing gown hanging from one plump shoulder. "That man!" she huffed, slamming a mug down and sloshing tea into it.

"You didn't Stun him, did you?" Lily asked warily, craning her neck to see out of the swinging kitchen door from her spot at the head of the table.

"No…but I should have! He went up to bed. He'd get perfectly good sleep if he wasn't running around at all hours of the night!"

She sat down heavily at the end of the bench between Peter and Lily and glared into her cup. After a moment, her shoulders sagged; she put her face in her hands and started to cry.

Lily slid off her chair and kneeled at Dorcas's feet. "Ooh, no. Sweetheart! Don't cry! It'll be all right!""

"He d-doesn't understand! We've been together for nearly a _year_ , and I don't think it makes me an idiot to be concerned when I wake up to find my _boyfriend_ gone when there's murderers on the loose!""

Peter and Lily exchanged a pitying look over Dorcas's bent head.

"Sirius sometimes forgets that he isn't the only one who cares about what happens to Sirius Black," Lily said, petting Dorcas's tangled hair.

Peter patted her shoulder hesitantly and made a rather idiotic tutting noise.

"Well, I _do_ ," Dorcas said, lifting her head to reveal swollen, red eyes. "I do care. And I worry. He's so bloody stubborn and sometimes I think he _wants_ to get into a fight when he's out on those rides! I think he's looking for it. Sometimes I think he doesn't love me anymore. Sometimes—sometimes I think _he doesn't even like me that much!_ "

A wave of sobs overtook her, and she bit her forearm to keep from wailing. Peter's stomach clenched; he flinched away and immediately felt stupid for doing it.

"Did he _ever_ love me?" Dorcas mumbled in a small, pathetic voice. Lily gathered Dorcas up into her arms and glanced up at Peter, who was looking helpless. She smiled sadly and nodded toward the door. Peter sighed with quiet relief and stepped gingerly over the bench to leave.

Peter pushed through the swinging door, out into the corridor.

Sirius was bent over the railing, brow furrowed in concentration as he eavesdropped. When Peter met his eye, Sirius straightened up sharply and started to turn, as if to dash up to the guest room. Instead he steadied himself and held Peter's gaze, even as a blush crept up his neck and spread over his cheeks.

Dorcas's sobs were barely muffled by the kitchen door.

Their eyes met for a long moment before Peter turned, without a word, and walked out the front door.


	10. A Scale Askew

_12 November, 1978—_ The Daily Prophet _reports: In a shocking statement this morning from the Minister of Magic Lorcan McLaird, it has been revealed that Priya Padhi, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has not been seen since 3 November. She was last observed leaving her son Rani's Croydon home after a visit with her grandchild. In his statement, Minister McLaird insisted that top Law Enforcement officials would be dispatched to attend to the case. When asked if he would also send Aurors to investigate, McLaird had no comment. As the search proceeds, Padhi will be succeeded by current Deputy Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore, and Wizengamot Secretary Enoch Rosier will fill the Deputy spot vacated by Dumbledore._

An emergency meeting was called after the Daily Prophet reported the disappearance of Priya Padhi. Rain poured, mirroring the heavy greyness that had settled in the minds of the public.

While readying the parlor for the meeting, Peter glimpsed Dumbledore in Mr. Potter's old study, looking gravely at a piece of owl post and sitting down at the antique secretary to draft a reply. After a few seconds, Dumbledore lifted his head and met Peter's gaze unsmilingly. "Yes, Mr. Pettigrew?"

Peter started and backed away. "Sorry, sir." He turned and walked straight into a small man wearing a lavender fez with a tassel that matched his silvery hair. "Beg your pardon, sir!"

The man smiled kindly and patted Peter's shoulder. "Not at all, my son. Carry on! I'm just looking for Albus. I can spy him jotting down something right through there! If you'll excuse me." Peter watched the man cross into the study, and heard him address Dumbledore in the same breathy, squeaking voice. Peter wavered uncertainly in the doorway, straining to listen and trying not to at the same time.

"Peter?"

He started again and whacked his hand on one of the brass gryphons flanking the fireplace. He bit his other hand to suppress a yelp and turned to face a very preoccupied-looking Lily. " _Yes?_ "

"Are you all right?" She was holding a sheaf of fliers. Peter could see a photograph of a woman's face blinking up from the stack.

"Er, yeah." He rubbed his hand and cursed under his breath. "What do you need?"

"Can you put one of these on all of the chairs before people start arriving?" She passed him the pile and turned away without another word.

"Yeah, sure," he said to her retreating back. He looked at the photo again. It was the missing lady: a square-faced Indian woman with graying hair and the plum-colored robes that signaled a member of the Wizengamot. A thick wrought-silver chain around her neck indicated she had been the Chief Warlock.

 _Still is Chief Warlock,_ Peter reminded himself. Once you started thinking of people who were not confirmed to be dead in the past tense, it was all downhill from there.

He set a piece of parchment on each seat—two on each of the gilded loveseats, three on each sofa. Chief Warlock Padhi stared up at him all the while. She had been liked well enough, as far as Peter could tell—not that he paid much attention to politics—and had started to come down harder on crime, particularly the crime of using magic on and against muggles. These infractions were usually harmless—but annoying—pranks rather than any kind of harm. These tricks were common, and Padhi's statement against them had gotten pushback from adolescent witches and wizards who enjoyed the joke. But surely that wasn't enough to _kidnap_ a person, was it?

The Order members arrived in small groups, huddling together at the front door as the rain poured around them and hurriedly performing drying spells as they stepped into the warm hall. They trickled into the parlor, studying the flyers with determined expressions.

Frank and Alice arrived last, a copy of the Daily Prophet tucked tightly under Frank's arm. His eyes darted around the parlor as he unfurled the paper. "Where's Dumbledore?"

"I am here, Mr. Longbottom."

Dumbledore and his small friend had emerged from the study. Dumbledore was still stony-faced as he took the paper Frank offered.

"Albus, did you see who they're replacing you with?" Frank's voice sounded strained and panicked. Alice's eyes darted between her husband's face and the headmaster's.

But Dumbledore said nothing; he stared levelly at the page and, after a few moments, handed it back to Frank. "Thank you."

Frank looked like he wanted to say more, but he pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Please, be seated," Dumbledore began, more loudly, to the people who had gathered in the parlor. A few were still applying drying charms to their soaked hair. Lark's dark locks were hanging in ropes around her face; she sat next to Fabian Prewett, smiled up at him, and shot a glare at Sirius. He looked momentarily wounded, then got very interested in his folded hands.

"I'm sorry to call all of you here in such a hurry, for such a solemn occasion," Dumbledore continued, seating himself in the carved chair that had come to be known as his. "Chief Warlock Padhi is a very excellent witch, and a remarkable woman. Her absence is distressing for many reasons.

"As some of you have already realized," he inclined his head to Frank and Alice. "Ms. Padhi's disappearance has left an opening in the Wizengamot. I have accepted the chief Warlock position, and Mr. Rosier has moved up to fill my vacancy as Deputy Chief Warlock. I have suspected Rosier of being a supporter of Voldemort from the start, before many of you were born."

Most of the Order members were under thirty, with few exceptions. Why hadn't older witches and wizards joined? Had they been asked? Had Dumbledore had recognized that idealistic young people were usually far more eager to risk their lives to be part of something "noble" and "historic"? In his first few years at Hogwarts, Peter recalled hearing about the anti-war protests among muggles on both sides of the Atlantic that turned violent, and even deadly. But the war had gone on despite them.

"It is not difficult to see why Ms. Padhi's disappearance and Rosier's ascent in the Ministry are beneficial to Lord Voldemort. This means Rosier can position himself very closely to both the new Chief Warlock—that is to say, myself—" Dumbledore folded his hands. "And to the Minister. In one way, we are very lucky, because I am a rather difficult obstacle to overcome, and I do not intend to let the control of the Wizengamot fall to one of Voldemort's cronies. However, I cannot be everywhere, and I cannot ensure that Rosier will not compromise my fellow Wizengamot members or Minister McLaird himself. Thus, I will be appointing one of you as a shadow to Minister McLaird, and my good friend Elphias Doge—"

The small man next to Dumbledore gave a jaunty wave.

"—who is the special advisor to the Wizengamot—will keep an eye on our friend and advise him on his new role. In the meantime, Alastor ensured that Frank was placed as an advisor to the team of Magical Law Enforcement officers attending to Ms. Padhi's case, and will surely keep us abreast of all developments."

"Sir," James stood. "I'd like to volunteer to shadow McLaird."

Lily did a double-take at her fiancé. The Prewetts exchanged identically disappointed expressions—clearly they had wanted to volunteer for the job themselves. Peter felt the usual twin pinches of admiration and jealousy, which gave way to complacency. It was second nature for him to let James take the lead; volunteering for a dangerous mission seemed a matter of course.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Perhaps…I suppose it would not be disrupting your occupation to devote your attention to this task, full-time."

"No, sir." It was well known that James' inheritance meant he would never have to work if he didn't want to.

"Very well. Coordinate the details with Alastor." Dumbledore shot Moody a look that plainly said, _And report those details directly to me._

* * *

"Feel free to ask me next time before you volunteer to be a bodyguard for the most powerful man in Wizarding Britain," Lily said sourly, sliding onto the kitchen bench.

"What d'you mean?" James said, not meeting Lily's eyes as he uncorked a large jug of beer and began to pour. "I'll be fine—I've got precautions. You know that." Once they were filled, he handed the large, mismatched steins around to Lily, Sirius, and Peter.

The four of them had settled in their usual spots at the kitchen table after the meeting. Dorcas had bowed out: she had agreed to go out for coffee with the Prewetts and Emmeline Vance. Sirius was trying very hard to distract himself with the subject of James' new assignment.

"It'll be bloody brilliant," Sirius grinned, foam dangling from his top lip. "D'you think Moody would find out if I came along with you one day—"

"I'm not sure that would be the best idea," Peter broke in, glancing sideways at Lily; she was peering sternly into her stein. "The whole business sounds very…dodgy. I'm sure the Ministry has ways of knowing who should and shouldn't be there. Especially in the _Minister's office_."

"Not to worry, Pete," Sirius said casually, pausing to take a deep draught from his mug. "Our escapades at school prepared us for exactly this sort of thing. He is _well_ -equipped." He winked, and Peter smiled tightly.

The cloak, of course. Surely that was a big reason why James had been so willing to volunteer. Not even Dumbledore knew about the cloak after seven years of capers and mischief. None of Hogwarts' ancient magic had ever detected them either—it was unlikely that ministry security would present any major problem.

It wasn't that James couldn't do it—with the cloak involved, it was easily managed—but was it wise? _Better him than me._

"Don't think James'll have a pleasant evening." Peter shook his head as they left the house. "Lily didn't look too pleased."

Sirius shrugged. "Bah, when does she ever?" He considered for a moment, and added soberly, "Well, I suppose once you get married you start thinking for both of you. Still—she'll be fine. You know James isn't in any real danger."

Peter nodded. _Somehow, I don't think that's what she's upset about._

He supposed James wasn't very used to asking permission; his parents had been very accommodating and other than them, the only people whose opinion James had cared about had been that of Sirius and pretty girls.

Lily was indeed a pretty girl, but she had always challenged James instead of fawning over him. It might have been a novelty to him in school, but surely battling it out all the time really got in the way of being able to do whatever you want.

Instead, Peter said, "You're right."


End file.
